ArchivedLogs:Dinner Conversation

Dinner Conversation
Dramatis Personae Toru, Trib
In Absentia	2014-04-20 Toru and Trib discuss the Perfectus
Location <NYC> 311 {Trib} - Sunrise Apartments - Clinton
For a room in the Sunrise building, this apartment is pretty well-furnished. There isn't much in the way of art - though on one wall, there are the beginnings of what appears to be a collage of articles; most boxing, although there are a few news stories and glossy physique images from muscle magazines. Against one wall is a plush brown couch is wedged between matching end tables, with a matching ottoman seated in front of it, and a blue throw blanket draped over the back. Set diagonally from that, next to a brass floor lamp, is a matching brown recliner - clearly, the three are part of a set. Decidedly /not/ matching that furniture is another couch on an opposing wall with stripes in varying widths in shades of blue, green, teal and brown; this one is a bit cheaper looking, with canvas upholstery and bare wood arms. Under it all, a mottled brown-and-ivory rug covers the hardwood floor. The only other wall with only space has a set of hooks screwed into it, which usually has a blue street bicycle hanging from it, and a skateboard leaning against the wall on the floor beneath it. The whole living room feels a bit cramped, though the relative lack of clutter keeps it from feeling too over-crowded. Through the small, dingy kitchen is the entrance to the bedroom, where a new-looking platform holds an oversized bed; the only piece of furniture in there. The door to the bathroom is closed, but it's likely stocked with bathroom-appropriate accoutrements. With warmer weather creeping in, Toru has been increasing his workload a bit - delivery is a lot more pleasant when you aren't fighting the cold. This has resulted in him bringing home takeout dinners on an almost daily basis, but today he's stepped the food game up a bit; still takeout, but the boxes smell like Italian rather than the usual Chinese-or-pizza-or-both. Steadfastly managing to handle both his bike and the bag as he enters the apartment, with a bit of a noisy clatter, the food is deposited on the kitchen counter, and bike set up on a floor stand he'd just recently acquired. As usual, it takes him a few minutes to get himself situated; bike hung up off the floor, shoes off, work shirt tossed off to the side so that he's down to an undershirt and shorts. "Food!" is yelled with some vague distraction in his tone; he's set himself to shovelling things out of styrofoam and onto plates, and finding cups for water. Trib's been scarce around the apartment during the days, himself. On top of his regular training schedule, he's been traveling back and forth to keep Cage company. So daily takeout has been much appreciated and eagerly worked into the daily routine. When Toru clatters into the apartment, there's an answering thump from the bedroom -- well, more of a bang, and rattle of metal, and some muttered cursing. A minute or so after the younger man calls out, the door to the bedroom opens, and Trib emerges. He's dressed in a pair of jeans slung low on his hips, and nothing else. The boxer is rubbing his head as he emerges, his expression dark as he glances back at the bedroom. "Okay. That's three times. That metal contraption goes." "Maybe if you were more careful where you're walkin'," Toru replies with a raised eyebrow, and a slow half-smile. "If stuff's in the way maybe we oughtta get a bigger place. We /are/ a little cramped in here sometimes." He frowns a little to himself, chewing on his lip, but then eventually shaking his head. "Somethin' to think about anyway." Once he's got food set out - spaghetti for both, some additional lasagna on Trib's side of the table, garlic breadsticks - he clears off the takeout boxes, getting at least some of the cleaning taken care of before eating, and pulls out a chair to sort of sprawl into it, twisting around to face Trib as the larger man strolls out of the bedroom. "You okay?" "I don't know why I fuckin' let you talk me into gettin' that thing," Trib grumbles as he approaches the table, leaning in to claim a kiss from Toru before he plants himself on the couch. "I fuckin' bang my head on it all the goddamned time." He snorts, and shakes his head. "I'm just goin' to put fuckin' posts on the bed," he declares, grabbing a breadstick. "That'll save a lot of fuckin' hassle." He chomps down on the breadstick, humming at the question. "I'm okay," he rumbles around his mouthful, chewing thoughtfully. "Been a rough fuckin' couple of weeks," he says. "Them fuckers kidnappin' people, an' all of that...." His brow lowers, for a moment, and then he rolls a shoulder. "They sent Cage home yesterday, so that's fuckin' somethin'." "'Cause you treat me too good," Toru responds, matter-of-factly. "That's good about Cage, at least." Pulling his chair in against the table, Toru's legs get pulled up to rest in Trib's chair, toes hooking around his back. He jabs at his spaghetti for a bit, not actually /eating/ any of it, just sort of stirring it around a little as he stares down at his plate. "It's getting a little stupid us living together and suddenly not havin' much time with each other, y'know?" There's a little shake of his head there, one foot curling gently. "We haven't really been on a date in forever, y'know? It'd.. it'd be nice if we started doin' that again." It's obvious that he's having a hard time letting himself express an emotion, but he's doing his best. Trib bobs his head as he picks up his fork and stabs into the lasagna. "Yeah. I guess they had some mutant who could speed up his healin' or some shit, an' it's only goin' to be a few weeks before he's on his feet." There's relief in Trib's tone as he delivers this bit of news. "So it's /really/ fuckin' good news." He cuts out a huge forkful of lasagna and shovels it into his mouth. He chews slowly as Toru talks, watching the younger man with his hawk-like stare. "I always got time for you, pup," he says, swallowing his mouthful and reaching for his cup to wash it down. "Now that Cage is out, an' those fuckers are taken care of, there'll be a lot more time for proper datin'." He smiles as he lowers the cup, a hint of teeth at one corner of his mouth. "Next month's May," he points out. "We can go down the shore for a weekend, an' go to that clam place in Little Neck." "Right! Yeah, your fuggin' clam place. I almost forgot about that." Toru rubs the back of his head, with a sort of sheepish grin. "Anyway isn't Cage supposed to be fuggin' invincible? How'd he get hurt so bad in the first place anyway?" He finally does jab a bit more productively at his food, chomping down a forkful and chewing on it thoughtfully. "I know you always got time for me but you know I don't like gettin' in the way when it comes to like... your career stuff." He curls his free hand along the table, balling it into a loose fist. "And I know you don't like me thinkin' that way but I do think it's better we got separate things, even if it does seem like we got too much separate goin' on lately." "The people takin' people apparently had fuckin' powers," Trib says, lifting hsi eyebrows as he delivers this revelation. "Cage said this chick just sort of fuckin'...exploded his muscles from the insides. It was all kinds of fucked up." He wrinkles his nose, and stabs his fork into his spaghetti, twirling it vigorously. His brow furrows when Toru explains, and he turns a flat sort of look on the smaller man. "You ain't in the fuckin' way." He sounds like he's reciting a familiar line, although his tone is warm. "An' you're right. It's good we got separate things goin' on. Gives us shit to talk about when we're together." Toru just sort of nods quietly as Trib explains about Cage, cringing a little at the thought and, subsequently, looking at the spaghetti with a bit of a grimace. "Well, at least he's fuggin' alright, then. Christ." He shakes his head a few times, digging for a breadstick and chomping on it steadily. "Anyway, I don't mean like fuggin' /literally/ in the way, just ... y'know. You got your thing. I guess I ain't in the way but -- fuck it, we don't gotta keep rehashin' that." He shakes his head again, a bit more firmly - not angry at all, just calm. "That's part of why I was talkin' about goin' to school is 'cause I wanna have an actual /thing/ to do that ain't just... deliverin' food, y'know? I mean it's great for flexibility but it ain't much of a livin'." Trib rumbles a chuckle as Toru talks himself down, and lifts the wad of twirled spaghetti in the air to gesture with it. "If you want to go to fuckin' school, I'm okay with that," he says, tipping his head. "One of us should have some actual fuckin' learnin', yeah?" He shoves the spaghetti into his mouth, licking at the sauce a stray noodle leaves across his upper lip. "An' I'd fuckin' shit at it." The crinkle of his eyes speaks to the teasing nature of this questioning, and he leans forward to drop his half-hand over Toru's. "Just don't get so smart you realize you're too fuckin' good for the likes of me." "Trib." Something in Toru's expression falters a bit at that contact, his hand tilting to grip Trib's for a moment before pulling it away and running it over his head. His fork is set on his plate, and the teen stands up, pulling the table away from Trib and striding around to straddle the man's lap, pulling himself up so that he can look down into Trib's eyes. "You are... if any of us isn't right for the other it's me for you, you're the most..." He frowns, biting his lip, and eventually shakes his head. "...I don't think you know how afraid I am of wrecking you." Trib frowns at Toru pulls away, his lips pursing as the younger man stands. His mouth loosens slightly when Toru climbs into his lap, and he leans back in his chair to maintain eye contact. There’s a dismissive noise when Toru speaks, and the boxer narrows his eyes. “In the last year, I got screwed over by my manager an’ sold into a cage where I had to fuckin’ fight for my goddamned /life/. I got three kids convinced that I’m some kind of pedo rapist. My dad got eaten by zombies, an’ the man who’s probably as close to a brother as I’m ever goin’ to get was damned near killed because he always has to be some big goddamned hero all the fuckin’ time.” He inhales deeply, and wraps his arms around Toru snugly, pulling him tight against his chest. “You ain’t fuckin’ goin’ to /wreck/ me. If anythin’, you’re fuckin’ keepin’ me from wreckin’ myself.” Toru's arms curl gently around Trib's neck, fingers toying lightly with the man's hair, and the gesture turns into somewhat more of a head-hug when Trib pulls him in. He buries his face in Trib's shaggy locks, taking in a deep breath and just silently sits there for a moment, eventually letting out a slow sigh. "You left out the part where you started dating a self-destructive asshole," he finally mumbles, after a long pause. "I'm just always thinkin' one of these days I'm gonna do somethin' that's gonna end up gettin' you hurt somehow, or makin' it so you stop bein' you, and it's.. I don't want that to happen, y'know?" Trib’s arm just tighten as Toru pulls closer, and he does his own inhaling when he buries his nose in the curve of the smaller man’s neck. “I didn’t forget nothin’,” he rumbles against the skin there. “An’ you ain’t goin’ to do nothin’ that’s goin’ to fuck me up so fuckin’ easy.” He lifts his chin, easing his head back to crinkle his eyes at Toru. “Or is it time for /that/ fuckin’ conversation again?” Toru finally manages to crack a smile at that, tightening his grip just a touch, for a moment, before firmly rubbing his nose against the top of Trib’s head. Chewing on a mouthful of hair. Eventually pulling his head back so that he can make eye contact again, with that little smile. “I keep bringin’ it up ‘cause I think we have like… fundamental disagreements about what I’m capable of.” He leans in, gives Trib’s forehead a little smooch. “But this time I wasn’t talkin’ about me. It ain’t that I think anything’s like, gonna happen or nothin’, just…” With a sigh, Toru lowers himself down in Trib’s lap, slumping against the larger man’s chest and just shaking his head. “Same old conversation. Outta nowhere sometimes I just get scared of losing you, and who the hell else am I gonna talk to about it besides you?” Trib’s laughter at this sentiment is warm, and his chest jostles unde Toru’s weight. “Oh, man. That’s it. We are gettin’ you a fuckin’ /cat/.” He snaps the fingers of his left hand, continuing to snicker. “No, wait. A fuckin’ parrot. They can fuckin’ talk back.” Twisting his head around, Toru /gnars/ on Trib’s arm, making a little growly noise as he half-chews on it, but eventually pulls away and notes, “Don’t you remember I said I’m more of a cat than a dog?” He snorts, adding a little smack in to his gentle fake-abuse. “Jerk. Maybe we can go to Coney Island and you can win me one of those huge fuckin’ stuffed animals that’re bigger’n you are, I can sleep with /that/ instead.” “I already fuckin’ trip over that goddamned jungle gym in there,” Trib rumbles, hitching his side in response to the smack. “I ain’t about to share my bed with fuckin’ Winnie-the-Pooh’s mook fuckin’ brother.” He wrinkles his nose. “You’re just goin’ to have to find somethin’ else to keep you warm at night. Like a /cat/.” He lifts a hand to wag a finger at Toru playfully. “Only you ain’t allowed to become one of them fuckin’ weirdos who talks to his cat like they can fuckin’ understand you. They ain’t all Tweety.” “Wasn’t the whole point that you wanted me to get somethin’ to talk to?” Toru smirks, sticking his tongue out just a bit. “Anyway we ain’t gettin’ a pet, it’s bad enough havin’ to feed your big mouth without addin’ another one to my workload, y’know.” Shaking his head a few times, he stretches his arms, moving to oh-so-casually wrap them around Trib’s chest as he settles in a little more comfortably. “I guess I could think about maybe tryin’ to make /friends/ but fuck, people are annoying as hell.” “Tell me about it,” Trib rumbles, nuzzling his face into Toru’s hair. “Yap, yap, yap….”